


There are rules I had to break

by akaya



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Gen, I should rather say mangst and lots of violence, Kink Meme, M/M, it's dark baby
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-07-05
Updated: 2011-09-04
Packaged: 2017-10-21 01:58:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/219633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaya/pseuds/akaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there was one, and only one thing that Azazel had learned during the years he'd spent on the cursed ground that some people, normal people, called Earth - - It's that some things are impossible to foresee, unless you are a mutant with this particular power, but Azazel was not one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for [this prompt](http://1stclass-kink.livejournal.com/6084.html?thread=7662788) _"Riptide gets severely injured/affected by some deadly force etc. He's dying. Magneto with all his awesomeness can't do a thing. Desperate Azazel teleports with unconscious Janos to the Xavier's mansion."_ on the kink meme. I own nothing, except for my own writing and the only thing I gain is my personal satisfaction. Self beta, so let me know if I missed something.

If there was one, and only one thing that Azazel had learned during the years he'd spent on the cursed ground that some people, normal people, called Earth - - It's that some things are impossible to foresee, unless you are a mutant with this particular power, but Azazel was not one of them.

Neither was Riptide, beautiful strong Riptide, who had - - who _has_ , Azazel corrects himself - powers to rip a human body to shreds with a mere flick of his wrists. Riptide, who can kill and destroy in a way that it looks like art.

Azazel often enjoys watching Riptide's use of his own power. The man is efficient and elegant in his work, and doesn't check his hair every damn minute - - one day, Azazel swears, he will teleport the damn fly woman somewhere when she will be lost, preferably forever – and doesn't need praises or fawning to know that he's good at what he does. Riptide, _Janos_ , is a man, who knows what he's worth.

It's only one reason of a few, for why Azazel likes the man.

And now Riptide is bleeding, suddenly looking like a half man he is and Azazel does not understand why, or _how_ this all happened.

The plan was plain and simple. Magneto, their new leader - - it's been months now, but Azazel's perception of time had always been different – decided that they'd need an operation base, a place to lick your wounds and plan revenge against humanity or whatever other silly thing the man did in his spare time. One of the most guarded prisons in United States seemed like a good choice. Azazel, to put it frankly, didn't - - and still doesn't – give a crap about it all. It's more of a lack of any kind of choice in the sides.

Azazel is not Raven.

He cannot blend with humans and wait for them to accept Mutants for what they are.

He cannot hide his tail, his red skin and pointy ears under make up or clothes.

But he's no crier either. Be it because of his appearance or a quirk of character, but he enjoys violence. It makes him justified in a way.

Born this way? _How else_ are you supposed to survive in a world full of bigotry and cruelty to anything that is even slightly different. He doesn't like to over-think the matter. He likes to stay in the present.

The present is that Riptide is wounded, bad. He's got a nasty gush on his forehead and there is an unmistakeable red stain, darker than Azazel's skin, and it keeps getting bigger, making Riptide breathe in short pained gasps, but nothing besides that.

He's unconscious. _He's dying_ , Azazel thinks. There is a feeling of panic on the verge of his mind. _He's dying and I don't know what to do._

“He's done,” Emma comments off-handedly, and Azazel's glares at her heatedly. His angry, pale blue eyes following her every move, already looking for an opening. A thought, that it would be so easy, to get to her and cut her throat open, before she could even think about changing into her diamond form. Perhaps some of it shows on his face, because she snorts at him, her body already transforming.

“This is a way of war, some men do get lost,” Magneto offers, walking over to them after making sure all of the guards, and the criminals that'd be no use for them, are dead. Azazel glances up at him and sees his stony, emotionless face. Missing completely the hint of sadness and maybe even regret underneath. He's not a mind reader. Never wanted to.

“He's still alive,” Azazel grits, his voice heavily accented, holding the broken body closer, making Riptide hiss at the pressure on a probably fractured ribcage. Magneto looks down then, there is no pity or remorse in his eyes and in any other situation Azazel would be the same, but not this time. Because it's Riptide, because Azazel can still feel him breathing.

“We can't help him,” Magneto cuts off and looks away, taking in their surroundings, mind already preoccupied with something else. _Something more important than a dying underling_ , Azazel snarls mentally, his tail swinging from side to side angrily, the tip of it looking dangerous like a venomous scorpion, readying itself for an attack.

“Suit yourself,” he barks and stands up, cradling the warm body to his chest, making sure to not jostle anything more. “I'm taking him with me,” he adds and teleports away.

+

It's the middle of the night, but Charles can't sleep. Something has been bugging him for most of the day, fragments of thoughts of places and people he didn't recognize, invaded his mind like an angry cavalry and he was unable to stop them. All of it, making him dizzy and nauseous, causing awful migraines. Hank had offered some help, some new medicine he'd came up with, but Charles would rather avoid drinking anything that has been in Hank's lab.

The migraines weren't that awful, but they did make him feel weary and tired and more than just a bit confused, but Charles figured it'd eventually pass - -

\- and surely he has to be hallucinating right now, because he can feel a presence of two other mutants, inside his own house, that he does not recognize, at first.

“Oh God,” he exclaims with a sharp intake of breath. “No!”

 **Prologue: End**


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I also have an amazing beta [rambling-ways](http://rambling-ways.livejournal.com/) now! :D

Their landing is less graceful that Azazel would want it to be, his feet hitting ground harder than he'd been expecting, making him stagger and fall down to his knees, holding tight onto Riptide. The other's man shallow breathing is harsh and unforgiving in his ears, but at least the man is still alive.

“Mой любймый,” _my darling_ , Azazel whispers into Riptide's hair, smelling his sweat and the scent of blood, heavy and imposing. He chokes on an angry growl and obscenities wanting to surface, they won't help, won't make it easier. He looks around, taking in his surroundings, checking for any danger. It had been reckless of him to teleport here, straight into Charles Xavier's mansion, but it was the only place of which he could think.

Taking Riptide to the hospital is not – and never was – an option he'd take into a consideration. Too dangerous, for both of them, but mostly for Janos. Foolish humans, who knew what they'd do if they'd discovered that they were to treat a mutant?

“I will take care of you,” he whispers again, this time in English, and straightens up, looking for some kind of sofa or at least a recliner to put the heavy weight in his arms down. The mansion is quiet and cold, with old paintings on the walls. Azazel thinks it lacks any kind of personality, warmth. It's more like a museum than a house that is, supposedly, being lived in by a bunch of young mutants.

 _Even Shaw's submarine had more welcoming aura to it._

 _Is that so?_ An alien voice hums in his head, and Azazel whips around quickly, arms curling around Janos protectively, his tail obtruding forward, its sharp tip just another weapon. He can't see, but he can feel an obtrusive presence around him, similar to Emma's, but with a different feeling to it. _I wouldn't say so._

“Where are you?” He growls, eyes scanning the darkness surrounding him, looking for the man who intrudes upon his thoughts. Azazel knows, _he can feel it_. “Show yourself.”

“So you're not here on orders,” the voice says, aloud this time and now it's easily for Azazel to pinpoint the exact location of the owner, but it's not like he has to, for the man in question doesn't try to hide anymore.

“Charles Xavier,” he says, and scrunches his brows at the wheelchair. It's a new development, surely not one he knew about before.

“That is my name, Azazel,” the man answers, with a slight nod, slowly wheeling closer. He is dressed in a slightly washed out pyjama and slippers, and overall doesn't look very intimidating, but Azazel knows better.

“Stop,” he says, and readjusts his grip on Riptide, dimly noticing that his breath is getting shallower, his body just a bit colder. “Don't move,” he rasps and swishes his tail in front of him menacingly. It seems to work, because Charles stops, giving him a wary look, and there is this ticking sensation in Azazel's mind again. Images, of the moments before teleportation, flicking in front of his eyes like a bad film. He squeezes Riptide harder to him. The urge, to go back and do his _own_ kind of justice, is strong within him, but he can't just leave the other man.

He is important.

He won't let him die.

“Is he alright?” The man in a wheelchair asks suddenly, but by the way he looks straight at Azazel, it's hard to tell if he means Riptide or – maybe, just maybe – someone else. Azazel might have a hunch about, who the man is talking about, but he doesn't care enough to think about it.

“He's wounded,” he answers and his tail moves to push some of the hair from the unconscious Riptide's forehead. “He's -” he says, but Charles raises his hand, for him to stop.

“Do you trust me?”

“No,” Azazel answers swiftly, and the man doesn't look all that surprised. After all, their last meeting had been anything but nice, and from what he sees now, this man lost more than just a – whatever Erik, no Magneto, was for him.

“Friend,” he says softly and Azazel looks back at his face, not bothering to hide his disgust with having his mind prodded at. Xavier laughs softly, but there is no mirth in it. It's a sad, hollow sound. “I've lost a friend then.”

Azazel can't help, but snort at this. It didn't look like that to him. Magneto just left, Azazel would never do that to Riptide. _Unless the man wanted him to._

“Yes, it's a bit complicated matter, I'm afraid,” Charles answers with a tired sigh. “But we're not here to reminiscence things that used to be and aren't anymore, do we?”

“No,” Azazel says, keeping his voice even.

“Will you try to attack or kill anyone here?”

“No.”

“Then follow me. He needs medical attention.”

Charles Xavier leads him through one of the corridors on the ground level. It's understandable, given the man's condition, but Azazel keeps his guard on anyway, keeping a watchful eye to his surroundings. The light here is not obtrusive, but allows both of them to see where they're going, and Azazel to notice more details. So far he doesn't see anything that would be threatening in any way, unless one of the ancient flower vases is a concealed lethal weapon, but Azazel honestly doubts it.

They don't continue their conversation, for which Azazel is grateful, not really wanting to share more than needed with Xavier. The man glanced inside his mind; it was intrusive enough in his opinion. It's a matter of minutes for them to stop in front of a pair of doors. They look to be made of wood, but if one looks closer there are some small changes, probably made to strengthen the frame. Azazel feels his suspicion rising, but doesn't voice it. He doesn't have to.

“It's our laboratory,” Xavier says and knocks at the door, putting two of his fingers to his temple at the same time. “Please don't make any sudden movements,” he says after a moment, and before Azazel can ask him what the hell does he mean by that, the door open and the quite memorable, blue, furry figure stands in front of them. Azazel still has the scars on his chest from the other's claws.

“Professor you said it was urgent, what's going on -” the man, the blue beast says and stops, growling upon noticing Azazel and taking a step forward, probably to attack, but -

“Hank, stop!” Xavier's voice is loud in the otherwise quiet mansion and the blue man stops.

“What are they doing here?!” He hisses and Azazel keeps his tail high in front of him, the tip twitching menacingly.

“First things first, Hank,” the man in the wheelchair says and his voice is that of a commander, not a weak invalid. Completely different from Azazel's first impression of the man. “This man needs medical attention, we can help him.”

“Why would we?!”

Xavier scrunches his brows and visibly straightens in his chair, “Because, we're good people Hank.”

“Fine,” Hank, Azazel notices with surprise, nods and opens the door wider, allowing both of them pass. _They will help Riptide_ , Azazel tells himself, persuading himself that it's enough to keep his emotions and angers under control. _They will make him alright_ , he repeats to himself and doesn't see the look Charles Xavier gives him behind his back.

+

The lab is not exactly sterile, there are books and random equipment scattered all around, and the mixture of chemicals in the air makes Azazel's head spin, but he stands his ground, because Hank is still giving him an evil eye, even as he pushes one of the tables to the middle of the room and motions for him to put Riptide there.

“What exactly happened?” He asks and reaches for a pair of scissors, and it's a moment before Azazel has his wrist in a tight grip, Hank growls, but doesn't attack him. “I need to cut away his clothing, unless you have a better idea of how to do it?” He snarls, and Azazel feels a bit foolish, but steps aside, keeping close to Riptide just in case. The man lost lots of blood, and Azazel prays for a small miracle.

He smiles bitterly to his own thoughts. _Pray_ , he thinks. _How human of him._

“They surprised him,” he answers, watching Hank's big, but agile fingers cutting away Riptide's destroyed suit and prodding, none too gently, at the bloody wounds. “He didn't see it coming,” he adds and his breath stutters, his accent getting heavier. Hank just nods and reaches for a plastic syringe, Azazel's eyes following him with distrust.

Xavier clears his throat then, “So, Russian is your native language?” He asks and Azazel turns to him, but his tail circles Riptide's wrist in a gentle hold, almost unconsciously. Of course both of the men notice this, but at the moment Azazel doesn't give a damn about it. It's their business, and if they have a problem with that –

“I told you to stay out of my head,” he says slowly, careful not to raise his voice, but giving the man a warning altogether. Hank doesn't comment on it. They might not like each other, but Azazel can appreciate him being serious about his task.

“It's your accent,” Xavier continues, unfazed by the hostility. “It's a rather obvious give away.”

“If you know it, then why ask?”

“Curiosity; your mutation is very interesting,” he answers and Azazel snorts rudely at this, already turning back to the table. He didn't come here to have a conversation about his mutation. He'd rather save his words. Xavier respects this and doesn't speak another word, but –

But he stays in the room, studying Azazel. The mutant knows it, because he can _feel_ his eyes on him. So either, the man is taunting him, or just distrusting enough to keep an eye on him. Whatever it is, Azazel doesn't give in, doesn't look back. Years of experience letting him know that it's better this way.

Azazel doesn't know how much time has passed since they got here, but he feels the adrenaline from the fight slowly giving way to tiredness and muscle cramps. His eyesight is a bit blurry, but he'd been in worse shape before, and Riptide needs him so resting is out of the question.

“I'm almost done,” Hank says, sewing the last one of the many cuts on Riptide's body, throwing a glance over at Azazel. “It won't do you any good if you faint,” he comments, and goes back to checking one of the two IV's connected to the arm of the unconscious man. Artificial blood and something that Azazel is not sure about, but doesn't ask. Instead, he looks around and spots one of the plastic chairs, close enough that is easy for him to reach for it with his tail, without having to move away from his spot.

He ignores the interested look flashing in Xavier's eyes; the man doesn't even try to conceal it, and sits down heavily with his palm on his knees. _I'm getting old_ , he thinks and laces his fingers together, looking over at Riptide, who seems to breathe more steadily than before.

“How old are you?” Xavier asks after a beat and Azazel doesn't need to question him, if he'd heard his thought. _Worse than Frost_ , he thinks. _This is ridiculous_.

“I thought we were done with the questions,” he answers gruffly, not even bothering to look at the man.

“Just this one,” he pushes. “Please,” he adds after a beat, and the ticklish feeling at the back of his head is mind is very much present again.

“Don't,” Azazel answers irritated, his tail twitching dangerously again. He's tired, but he's always up for a fight, and the man is clearly asking for it.

“Alright,” the man sighs, and his eyes follow the tail, but he looks more curious than threatened and it unsettles Azazel. He's used to people being scared, or at least intimidated by him – Janos being an exception, because for some reason the man seems to enjoy pissing him off almost as much as kissing him. Not that Azazel minds.

“He won't awake for some time,” Hank's voice tears through Azazel's thoughts. “But he is stable,” he finishes and looks at his professor with a clear _'what now?'_ look.

“There is a spare room upstairs,” Charles replies swiftly and Azazel can see the shocked surprise on the furry guy's face. “It's not being used at the moment.”

“What?!” Hank sputters, and crosses his arms in defiance. “You want them to stay here!”

Azazel is being honest with himself when he thinks that the man clearly is mental, thinking that they're going to stay here, and is not really that offended with the other's statement.

 _Of course you will stay here_ , Xavier's voice echoes in his head, and it sounds like a clear statement not a question. It makes a disturbing shiver go down his spine. _What other choice do you have?_

“No,” Azazel answers, for some reason finding it hard to utter that one simple word.

“He's in no condition to travel,” the telepath repeats, loudly this time. “And neither are you.”

“You can't stop me,” Azazel growls, and the atmosphere is suddenly much more dangerous than it was seconds ago.

“I can put you to sleep, but I believe you're a wise man, who knows I am right,” he answers easily and his eyes move from Azazel's face to Riptide's still silhouette on the table. Hank's furry, blue form standing next to it, assessing the situation and not making any move, but the look in his eyes is enough for Azazel to be aware that he probably won't be able to run away without incidentally hurting Riptide in the process.

He has no choice but to give in, if only for Riptide. He knew that, fucking Charles Xavier knew that, if his self-satisfied smile was anything to go by.

“Hank will show you your way.”

 

 **+end of chapter one**


	3. Chapter two

Azazel could think of at least ten better ways to wake up, than being smacked in the face with his own tail. Thankfully it just shocked him, without making any kind of permanent damage – other than a slight bruise that is not that visible on his already red skin. He quickly shook off his first shock and glared at the still twitching tail. Usually he had pretty good control over the thing, but sometimes he'd have sworn it had a life of its own.

At least he is awake now, even when he doesn't remember falling asleep at all. The thought that he let his guard down and actually allowed himself to doze off, makes him clench his fists in anger. Xavier might have helped them last night, but the man is too unpredictable in Azazel's honest opinion, and he certainly is anything but the goodie two-shoes he tries so hard to pose for. _I can see right through you_ , he thinks loudly, in case Charles Xavier is listening. He wouldn't put that past him.

Azazel knows it's safer to be wary around this type of a man that is even more dangerous than Shaw was; the latter, being rather obvious in his motives from the very beginning, which proved to be useful from time to time. _If Shaw was alive_ , he thinks this time, _would this even happen?_ Azazel wonders and sits up, leaning on the double bed where Riptide lays still, almost lifeless with his unnaturally pale skin and ugly multicoloured bruises. Azazel aches to touch him, to lay next to him, but it might do more harm than good, and it's the last thing Azazel wants. He can keep his urges at bay; he's not a teenager in need physical contact all the time. He is not!

“I'm not a damsel you need to sweep off her feet,” he says a bit gruffly and grimaces at the vile taste in his mouth, turning his face away. _I certainly don't smell like one_ , he adds in his mind and looks over at his ruined clothing. Most of the blood on it is Riptide's. When the realization hits, he practically rips the jacket off his body, throwing it in the corner, all the time muttering Russian obscenities under his nose. The pants and shirt looks blood-free, and he doesn't exactly have any clothes with which he can change.

“Akf,” Riptide moans crookedly, and it's a miracle that Azazel doesn’t get a whiplash, immediately turning to him and kneeling next to the bed, glancing worriedly over the man.

“Riptide?” He asks tentatively, brows furrowing in worry, but the man doesn't answer. Azazel's hand itches to push the other's hair away from his sweaty forehead, but he doesn't dare to touch him. The adrenaline from the night before has worn off, and he is much more conscious now, of how he moved and tousled Janos, maybe even making his injures worse for all he knows.

“Akfa,” Janos rasps again, and it's barely a murmur between his dry, chapped lips, but Azazel gets the idea.

Aqua... Water, the red skinned mutant thinks and looks around. The room is spacious, and mostly empty if not for the bed, two reclines and a small table in the corner. No water here, but there is surely a place where he could get some, a bathroom, or a kitchen maybe. Going out of this room, and leaving Riptide alone to roam for some water is not exactly the most thrilling idea, but it seems he doesn't have much choice here.

He concentrates hard on the layout of the mansion, looking for the right place and finds a kitchen on the ground floor.

“Third door to the left,” he mutters to himself and disappears in a cloud of red smoke -

\- Only to reappear in the middle of what looks like a family breakfast time, only with less family and more mutants. Each of them looking torn between pure terror and genuine shock, with the exception of Charles Xavier and Hank McCoy, the latter clearly repulsed by his person.

“What the hell?!” It's the blond kid, who breaks the uncomfortable silence first. Azazel remembers him, if only for the fact that he failed to kill him, because of McCoy. It's not exactly what he'd call a fond memory. “What the fuck are you doing here?!” He glares and stands up, the air in the room suddenly warmer, but Azazel doesn't move, assessing the situation. He could kill the kid with no problem now, the surprise element being on his side, but it would unwise, no matter how satisfying. He can't allow himself to be selfless like that, even at the price of his own pride.

“He needs water,” he says, instead of throwing a punch, or snapping his tail forward, knowing how easy it would be. He pushes those thoughts aside, not trusting Xavier to not read them. He has to think of Riptide.

“What?!” It's the redhead this time, looking at him with wide eyes, and Azazel see that he is not completely awake, and looks quite flustered in his stretched out pyjama bottoms, and old t-shirt with a name of some kind of a music band, that used to be popular back in the day, on it. “You don't want to kill us?!”

 _I do, I very much do_ , thinks Azazel. “No,” he answers aloud, and turns to Xavier, fighting the snarl, when he sees the almost peaceful expression on his face. “Water?” He asks, gritting his teeth and thinking up as many obscenities he can think off, trying to make the man loose his coolness.

“There are bottles in the fridge,” the man answers _and smiles_ , and Azazel's tail twitches angrily, hitting one of the cups on the counter, smashing it to pieces. _Fuck_ , he thinks and turns around, contemplating just leaving it there.

 _It would be rather rude._

“Stay out of my head,” Azazel warns, and sweeps the pieces to the side with his tail, not bothering to pick them up – for appearance's sake – before teleporting back to the bedroom where he stays with Riptide.

+

Getting Riptide to actually drink some water proves to be more difficult that Azazel was expecting it to be. Pouring water into his mouth is, clearly, out of the question. His unconscious lover could easily choke on it, and Azazel does not trust himself to do what's right if it were to happen. It makes him feel like a small, helpless child, needing guidance that he cannot ask for, because of his pride and position.

To make matters worse, Janos has visible trouble with breathing, and he keeps mumbling gibberish under his breath. Broken syllables and sounds that make no sense to Azazel's ears, making him feel the actual physical pain, just looking at the man.

“I'm going to give you water,” Azazel whispers roughly, his façade slipping a notch, before he takes a swing out of the water bottle and quickly leans down, kissing the well known dry lips, licking them open and sharing the water with Janos. The Spanish man is hardly responding, but it seems to work well enough, and Azazel repeats the motion a few more times, until there is only half of the water left.

He drinks the rest of the water himself, his own throat feeling as if he'd been feeding on sand and broken glass for the past few hours, making the thoughts of any kind of food flee from his mind. It's constricting, this helplessness of his.

“I'd fight to death for you,” he sighs and pushes Janos' hair, stubbornly sticking to his forehead and cheeks, away. He is aware of how silly his sentiment is, but it's the truth that he's been carrying inside for quite a while and he has grown quite accustomed to it, resounding in his head.

 _But what difference does it make, when I can't do anything but sit and wait?_ He questions himself, rubbing tiredly at his face, scowling at the soreness of his muscle, slowly letting itself known and the annoying buzzing in the back of his head, his body demanding that he gets some rest. As if that would be so easy.

+

Nobody dares to say anything out loud, too dumbstruck to utter actual words, but it doesn't mean no one questions what just happened in their minds.

“Please stop screaming,” Charles says, raising his hand in a placating gesture and looking at his students. He's glad that it's easier for him now, to build a mental wall, shielding at least part of the flow of questioning words, and different coloured emotions practically bombarding his poor brain. “I will explain the situation, but please,” _calm your minds first_ , he sends them, hoping for them to be reasonable enough to actually listen to him. “Azazel here is our guest,” he continues in his normal voice. “He had asked for our help, and I agreed to it.”

“Why?” Alex asks, and it's clear to Charles that is not exactly the question he'd wanted to ask, but figures it's a good sign that his children at least are trying to contain themselves. Even if Hank snorts rather rudely at the question and avoids looking at anyone.

“I understand your concern about this unusual situation,” Charles answers, his voice even. “But they're mutants and this house will be always open for them,” he finishes and feels the air growing heavier.

“Them?” Darwin asks, and looks between Charles and Hank, understanding that the blue furred mutant knows more about the predicament than they do, but before he can ask more Sean pipes in.

“Is Magneto here too?” He asks, sounding like he usually does, but there is a wariness in his eyes.

“No,” he answers quickly, straightening in his chair subtly.

“It's Azazel and the one with tornadoes,” Hank adds, pulling attention to himself, and Charles feels a wave of gratefulness wash over him because, while Hank clearly does not agree with his decision, the loyalty in him is stronger than that.

 _The loyalty that Erik or I lacked, unfortunately._

“How do you know that?” Alex asks, furrowing his brows and turning back to Charles. “Why does he know that?!”

“Hank helped me when they'd arrived yesterday,” Charles answers. “One of them is wounded, and unfortunately I don't have any medical expertise when it comes to broken bones and massive bleeding.”

“It's not our problem,” miffs Alex and crosses his arms over his chest, and Charles felt a wave of disappointment practically oozing from him. “The guy tried to kill me, hell during the attack on the CIA -” he stops and glances at Darwin, swallowing the unpleasant image of the man dying, before continuing. “During the attack on the CIA he'd used one of the black suits as a _shield_.”

Charles winces at that, he'd seen the attack through Raven's eyes, but reliving it again in his head, wasn't exactly a memory he wanted to keep or cherish, but nonetheless -

“I am aware that our guests are not exactly saints,” he starts and ignores the petulant look on Alex's face.

“They're dangerous professor,” Hank interrupts and looks at him, hoping to reason with the man.

“So are we.”

“Except we do not kill people as a hobby,” Sean snorts, and plays idly with his half eaten toast that doesn't look very appealing to him anymore, with murderers having a sleepover at the mansion and all.

“I have a reason to believe that no one in this mansion is in danger.”

“I'm all about adaptation, Professor,” Darwin says slowly, weighting his words. “But we've seen what those men can do. Sean is right.”

“They are in no position to threaten any of you,” Charles says sternly. _And they know it_ , he thinks and wheels to the counter, to pour himself some more coffee, from the corner of his eye he sees the abortive move of Hank's, as well as the weird, pitiful expression that crosses his face. Charles ignores it, saving both of them some needless awkwardness.

They all fall quiet, trying to absorb the new knowledge, each dealing with it a bit differently. Charles is cognizant of their apprehension, and uneasiness - feeling the low hum of it in his head - knowing it will take more than a few days for them to fully accept his reasoning, and see things his way. Maybe even years, who knows, he cannot foresee how it goes. With all his abilities, he is still only human underneath.

He hopes he is not in the wrong, but mostly wants them to understand what his ideals are, and what you need to do to make them into something more.

 _It's all like a game of chess, really._

 **\+ end of chapter two**


	4. Chapter Three

It starts innocently enough; a sudden intake of breath that would go unnoticed if not for the pained gasp and violent coughing that follows. Janos' body is shaking frantically, the coughing getting stronger, louder and there is blood. _Why is there blood_?! Azazel thinks and tries to soothe the man, torn between holding him down to stop moving and helping him move to the side so he could breathe easier.

He feels powerless, weak and in a sudden desperation tries to reach Xavier, yelling for him in his mind, eyes not once leaving Janos' face, pale and scrunched in pain.

 _Help_ , he sends the telepath. _Help_! He begs, he pleads, it's the only thing he can do now, and fuck his pride, he would gladly give it away if it saves Riptide.

+

Alex is in the training room with Darwin, offing the mannequins as if his life depended on it when he gets the message from Charles. It's sudden, and loud in his mind, surprising Alex so hard, he actually misses his target, by a good two meters and getting a worried glance from Darwin.

 _Alex, Hank, I need you on the second floor!_

“Everything alright?” Darwin asks, stepping over to him and putting a palm on the blonde's arm.

“Yeah,” he smiles and rubs at his temple, feeling the slight throbbing. It actually hurts, which is weird, because usually Charles' voice is less invasive when in his head. “Professor kind of yelled in my mind right now,” he explains to Darwin and gives him a private smile, but the black man scrunches his brows at this, his hand squeezing Alex's arm tighter.

“Yelled?”

“Yeah,” Alex nods and moves to open the heavy door. “And he sounded urgent.”

He barely says that and there is another shout in his mind, _Alex, now_!

“Shit,” he curses and runs upstairs, Darwin following him.

+

“Breathe!” Azazel whispers and kneels in front of Riptide, whose body is still being wrecked by the coughing, droplets of blood spattered on the sheets next to his face and on Azazel's shirt. It's a terrifying sight, and Azazel can't even try to pretend he is not moved by this. “Breathe!” He urges Janos in a painful gasp, feeling the physical pain of his chest constricting. _Breathe, don't leave me! Breathe_! He thinks desperately, eyes glued to the awful sight of Riptide fighting with his own body to function, to live -

The door suddenly bangs open, and Hank McCoy steps in, followed closely by Xavier, and two others that Azazel recognizes instantly as the blonde and the adapting one. He doesn't care enough to learn their names, unless they prove to be helpful.

“Step aside,” McCoy growls, making Azazel snarl at him in warning, but he does as he's told, even if Janos seems to be trashing even more than before.

“He coughs blood,” he says, voice harsh. “You were supposed to fix him!” He raises his voice, even though in the back of his head, he knows how ridiculous he sounds.

“Shut up,” the blue furred mutant orders, baring his teeth, before turning back to his task, checking on Riptide, who starts looking somewhat too purple around lips for Azazel's liking.

+

 _What the hell_?! Crosses Alex's mind when they step into the room, and the first thing he sees is Azazel trying to hold down the other mutant, who is coughing blood and thrashing like a fish out of water. The thought is soon followed by another, angrier one. _What are we doing here?!_

 _Watch closely, Alex_ , Charles' voice is back in his head, and thankfully it's more like his usual form of communication, without any pain and nasty surprises. It's still confusing the hell out of him, but the irritation is stronger, because why should he help this man? He'd tried to kill him in the past. Alex has no obligations towards him, or the one on the bed.

“What for?” He asks aloud, and Charles looks at him with an unreadable expression. It doesn't help the blonde's foul mood, but he has no time to ask about it, because Hank is growling something at Azazel and it's dangerous enough to make Alex's skin prickle.

“His coughing re-opened his inner wounds,” Hank says with a frown and turns to Alex. “I need some equipment from my room, you need to get it for - ”

“What?!” Azazel snaps, and they both turn to him, a nasty remark ready on Alex's lips, but the red-skinned mutant doesn't even look at him. “I'm faster,” he says hastily, his tail swishing behind him angrily and Alex has to admit that it looks kind of cool when it's not trying to kill or use anyone as a live shield.

“Oxygen breathing apparatus,” Hank says and continues, "It looks like a big white box with an oxygen mask, it's -” He tries to continue, but Azazel is already gone, leaving stupefied Beast behind.

“Man, that doesn't look good,” Darwin comments, as he steps closer to Alex. “What train hit him?”

“Who cares, they're not our friends,” Alex answers, and crosses his arms over his chest. _They are not like us_ , he wants to say, but then a memory of a juvenile prison comes back to him, so he says nothing, feeling Darwin stepping even closer into his personal space. _I'm not like them_ , he thinks and glares at the floor, when a pained moan travels through the room. He snaps his attention back to the bed, and looks closer at their _guest_.

Riptide looks nothing like the man he had seen before, strong and dangerous. This person here is weak, pained, pitiful. _This Riptide wouldn't stand a chance in a fight_ , Alex thinks.

 _But he's not alone_ , Charles' voice echoes in his head.

At the same time Darwin asks Hank, “Will he make it?”

“Don't know,” Hanks answers truthfully, and looks like he wants to say something more, but stops himself when Azazel teleports back with the machine. “Thank you,” he says instead, more of a habit than actually being grateful, not really listening if Azazel answers or not, fully preoccupied with his patient.

The awkwardness of the situation crawls up Alex's spine and he feels like he's imposing. He doesn't understand why Charles needs him to even be in this room, and watch as if it is some kind of a freak-show spectacle, not a try at saving the life of a person.

Alex rips his eyes away from a pitiful looking Riptide, and turns to look at Azazel, hovering behind Hank with a pained expression, instead. It baffles the blonde, the painfully human emotion; he'd not expect to see on a face of someone who finds such joy in violence and killing. It's like a slap in the face for Alex, the realization that perhaps behind this demon like skin, there is an actual person.

Now, upon taking a closer look, Alex deems Azazel as more menacing when it comes to looks than Hank, the latter even with all his blue, furry glory is still a big-footed nerd inside, who might have a bit of a temper nowadays, but overall is perfectly human inside. Alex might tease him about his looks, and tendency to babble in a way that even Charles has sometimes problem understanding, but he knows Hank. Knows what he is capable of doing, maybe even trusts him.

Alex doesn't trust Azazel, and he doesn't want to. He has seen enough to know that he's a monster, not only on the outside, with his tail – now swishing angrily from side to side – and his red skin, but on the inside as well. _Bad to the bone_ , he thinks and flushes ashamed, at the course of his thoughts. _What gives me the right to judge what's normal, and what's not_?! He chides himself.

He glances sideways at Darwin, at his dark skin, big hands, so well fitting over his body when they're alone; at his brown eyes, now turned to him with a mute question, _is everything alright_? Alex's answer is a subtle smile, as he reaches with his fingers to the other's wrist in a fleeting touch, almost a caress. Darwin smiles at him and it feels right, even when according to many it is not. He gives Azazel one more brief look, before turning to Charles.

“Are we needed here?” He asks, and looks him straight in the eye, expecting a disapproval glance with a commentary, certainly not a fond look and a nod of consent. It throws him off for a bit, but then, Charles is like that sometimes. Alex would lie if he said he hasn't been wondering about what's going on in the telepath's head at times.

+

 _Perhaps I should explain it to him later_ , Charles notes to himself, as he watches his two students leave the room. Charles understands Alex's anger, and could easily identify the resentment towards Azazel and Riptide, and maybe even a bit towards himself, just briefly, without even trying to listen into the other's thoughts. _But look_ , he wanted to tell him, but for some reason couldn't. _Look! How despite their loyalties, they're so similar to us!_

It used to be easier, he sighs inwardly and looks at Azazel. He doesn't read his mind, although he really wants to - all because of a tiny shimmer of hope in his chest, that maybe he could get some second-hand information on Erik, no _Magneto_. It wouldn't be easy, to go unnoticed in Azazel's mind, but it's certainly not impossible, not for Charles, but it would be violation and he likes to believe he's a better man, stopping himself from doing so.

Months ago, on the beach, Charles had made a decision, and it's not something he can go back to, and say, _sorry I changed my mind_. Because he might miss Erik, _God how he misses him_ , but he knows the decision was, and still is, the right one.

 _How is he_? He sends Hank tentatively, not wanting Azazel to overhear this particular query; the man looks enough on the edge as it is.

 _Bad_ , Hank sends back instantly, and glances subtly behind him. It takes no telepath to know he is nowhere near accepting their unusual guests. Charles can't blame him. _The oxygen should help with the breathing, but with the amount of damage and my lack of better skills, it's difficult to tell if he will even wake up._

 _It's not your fault_ , Charles sends him back, along with a wave of calmness that he himself doesn't feel, if he doesn't wake up, he thinks and turns his attention back to Azazel, whose stomach chooses this exact moment to announce its existence loudly, grumbling. Charles' eyes widen at this, and he gives the red-skinned man a surprised look, tinged with uneasiness.

“When was the last time you've eaten?” He asks, brows scrunching and mentally scolding himself for not noticing earlier.

Azazel shrugs, and winds his tail around his waist, before looking back at Charles, “There were more pressing matters,” he answers in a warning tone, obviously not wanting to discuss his eating habits. Charles' frown deepens.

“There is a fridge full of food,” he says, eyes boring into Azazel's scull. “You are welcome to use it.”  
Azazel doesn't answer, instead throwing Charles' a glance that says _I don't need your pity_ loud enough. No words needed.

There is a not very elegant comeback at the tip of Charles' tongue, but he prides himself in having more patience than this, so he catches the other's eyes and says, “I'd rather not have two patients, if I can help it.”  
“I didn't ask you to take care of me,” Azazel bites back, and Charles notes with fascination how his tail seems to tighten around his middle for a split second, before relaxing again.

“You're a guest in my house,” he replies, keeping his voice steady. ”It's only reasonable to assume that a certain amount of caring will be given, and that includes food, and shower. I'm certain there are clothes that are going to fit you just fine, as well.”

+

Azazel is momentarily stupefied by Charles' statement. How it is possible for a man with such attitude to still be alive, is beyond him.

“I could kill you, before you'd be able to even think my name,” he says suddenly, and notices McCoy straightening, and giving him a warning glance that Azazel promptly ignores, in favour of observing Charles Xavier's reaction. He expects annoyance, anger even.

What he gets is an amused smile, and, “Oh, I've taken this course of action into consideration,” and Azazel wants to ask, _What the hell is wrong with you_?! But that would equal an admittance of being confused, and that not something he wants to share.

“I'm not one of your charity cases.”

“I never said you were,” Charles says, wheeling closer to him, and there is this fleeting moment in Azazel's head, when he feels like he's being very obviously cornered, and it should be ridiculous – _It is ridiculous_ , he tells himself – but then it's not. Azazel can recognize a threat when he sees one.

“What are you getting to then?”

“I think that you know as well as I do, that things aren't always only black and white,” Charles looks up at him, before turning to look at Riptide, pale and breathing shallowly. “You care,” he adds after a moment, voice softer than it was before.

Azazel bristles at that, posture growing rigid. He finds himself at a loss of words, and can't help but to feel defensive. The look Charles throws him then, a look of _knowing_ , makes him only angrier. It's like the man is provoking him, testing how far he can push, before Azazel simply snaps and makes Xavier's mansion into a slaughter house.

“It's not your business,” he hisses after a moment, the end of his tail twitching, the only give away of his growing annoyance.

“No, it's not,” Charles nods, _fucking agreeing with him_ , before adding, “but the fact that you care is enough for me to give you a benefit of the doubt.”

Azazel turns his head to the side, giving Xavier a calculating look, quickly disturbed by another growling noise coming from his stomach. He scowls, looking down at it, cursing the more human part of himself. It's hard to act menacing when your own body decides to play against you. _Fuck you_ , he thinks and casts a brief look at the telepath.

“Then you're more naïve than I thought you'd be,” he utters, accent prominent, words heavy on his tongue. _You should be afraid of me, and yet you treat me like a helpless child. What a pitiful creature you are_ , he adds in his thoughts, and with one last look at Riptide's unconscious form, disappears in a cloud of red smoke.

+

“- I honestly don't understand why – JESUS!” Alex exclaims when Azazel teleports, practically on top of him, promptly almost giving him a heart attack in the middle of making a sandwich. It startles Azazel, but he keeps his expression impassive, taking a quick step back and glaring at the boy. He usually knows better where to land, and it's unsettling that being stuck in this mansion might've somehow affected his ability.

“Man,” breathes the other one in the room, Darwin. “Warn the guy next time,” he says, and clears his throat, looking at Azazel curiously, fingers tapping against the coffee mug. There are a few droplets of it on the table, the only indication that he was as startled as the blonde when Azazel appeared out of nowhere.

“Unless you did it on purpose,” Alex bristles, and throws Azazel a glare, chin jutting out slightly, body language defensive. _I couldn't care less about you_ , Azazel snarls inwardly, and opens the fridge door with his tail, ignoring the other's presence.

 

 **\+ end of part three**


	5. Chapter four

It honestly feels like the fridge is mocking him, filled to its brim with fancy food and drinks, making it difficult for Azazel to not salivate like a hungry dog, to not give in the urge to indulge himself with some freakishly expensive meal. He can cook, he could whip out some quick, richly tasting meal. Riptide would love some escalopes with the fresh yoghurt and basil, and -

He wouldn't even know to eat them, because he is not awake.

Azazel stomach growls again, demanding to be fed, or maybe it's just trying to distract his brain from over-thinking. He worries about Janos, a bit too much. It's rare, but then again, it's not exactly an everyday occurrence for one of them to be literally knocked out of it and at the mercy of the people considered to be their enemies.

It's difficult. Hell, isn't it difficult, Azazel thinks. Having to act all nice and proper, pretending that everything is perfect, and not out of the ordinary. When Azazel's reality is that of being trapped the middle of enemy's nest. _Because_ , he thinks and snorts under his nose, Charles Xavier _literally has him by the balls_ , and it's far from Azazel's version of fun. If Janos had been awake, he would probably laugh in his face at the admission.

 _God, if I didn't love you so much,_ Azazel thinks and reaches for a few tomatoes with his hands, and a yoghurt case with his tail, putting it all on the counter without looking. _It's a pity_ , he thinks, but he doesn't think his stomach can handle anything heavier.

“Huh,” one of the men behind him says, and Azazel doesn't have to turn to know they're watching him. _Let them be,_ he thinks furiously, gritting his teeth. _Play nice_ , he tells himself, and snorts at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“I don't appreciate being stared at,” he comments off-handily, and looks around for a bowl, and a knife to chop the tomatoes. He could use his tail to do it, but it's dirty, like the rest of him, and Azazel is not exactly in the mood to make himself more of a spectacle than he already is. _Shit_ , he thinks and scrunches his nose. _I could use a shower too_.

“You're showing off,” is the answer he gets. It's the blonde's voice. His tail, holding the knife, freezes mid air. _Behave_ , he thinks and turns his head, glaring at the blonde. He can still look menacing, even when chopping tomatoes for his god-damn salad.

“I don't appreciate pointless gawking at my person,” he says, carefully accenting each syllable, letting his displeasure be known.

“Sorry, man,” Darwin answers, and puts a hand on Alex's shoulder, the touch lingering. “How does it work?” He asks, nodding at the tail, which twitches nervously, knife and all. Azazel raises his eyebrow at the question. He'd never thought of himself as a pretty, but petty flower, but he does not like being scrutinized like a rare specimen of a bug. He can be pretty defensive about those matters, sue him. Being a mutant is one thing, looking like some bad caricature of a demon is a different story.

He had his fair share of mocking, and he learned how to deal with it fairly quickly. Manslaughter is very efficient, after all, and Shaw approved. It was one of those things they had in common, even though long, inspired conversations weren't exactly their thing.

Darwin sees how Azazel's body stiffens just a fraction, and the warning that is very clear in the other mutant's eyes. “No offence meant,” he adds, but can't help thinking about the best course of action in case Azazel snapped. “It just looks very useful.”

Azazel turns his head, giving the black man a calculating look, “It's efficient,” he says, and smirks at the blonde mutant. “Ask him. He knows.”

“Not as efficient, seeing as I am still alive,” Alex grins mockingly, without a shadow of mirth. His repugnance seeping into his voice, before he takes a bite of his sandwich, chewing it vehemently eyes poised on Azazel, daring him.

“Because of the blue fur ball,” Azazel snarls, touching his chest instinctively. The scars from McCoy's claws are still visible.

“Who's on the second floor stitching up your acquaintance,” Alex snorts. “Now that has to be a blow to your ego - “ he continues, but Darwin interrupts him.

“Alex, don't -” he says, voice gentile but stern, as he moves one of his hands to Alex's back, fingers splaying possessively. The intimacy of the gesture hits Azazel, because that's a way to touch a lover, not just a friend. Such blatant show of affection surprises Azazel.

The social norms are not forgiving enough, for this kind of attitude to be normal. Mutant and gay, that's the only less acceptable combination after the Mutant itself. Azazel is reluctant to believe that Charles Xavier is above all that. People are nowhere close to so open minded.

Unless this man is more brain-damaged, that he lets on, believing himself to be a hero in a utopian fairy-tale, on a mission to save the world with his preaching and spreading the love for equality all over the universe.

“Интересно,” _interesting_ , Azazel mutters to himself; thoughts reaching out to Janos, trying to mentally persuade the man to wake up, and for fuck's sake, kick some sense into him, because the atmosphere in this household is messing with his head, and he wants it to stop.

+

Fine. So perhaps Sean has gone a bit overboard with the excitement over training, but the state of the general moods in the mansion is stifling. Sean's original idea was to do something useful with all the nervous energy thrumming under his skin, so it was either a training or some _personal_ time with a smoke.

Only he'd rather not cloud his judgement of the situation. Just in case. Because he might be a pretty laid back person, but he's got enough common sense to survive, or at least try to and Azazel _terrifies him_ , with his mere presence and the ability to pop up in front of you from thin air.

And it all had been going perfectly fine too. Until the moment the wind suddenly picked up, surprising Sean enough to lose control of his flight for a few seconds, resulting in him crashing into one of the trees on the surrounding grounds. Thankfully, the only thing that suffered was his uniform and his pride. Death by impalement on a sharp tree branch wouldn't be his preferred way to go, and it's not like he could revive himself like a certain other member of the X-men.

 _Now, where is Hank?_ Sean wonders, walking through the corridors of the mansion, looking for the furry scientist. He'd been surprised about the lack of him in his usual hiding place, that being his lab, so the only logical alternative was the kitchen.

“Hey, has anybody seen Hank, I've ripped my - ” he says as he enters the kitchen, fingers playing with the remains of one of his wings, before looking up and registering who exactly is in the kitchen. “Oh,” he utters, blinking nervously.

“He's with the wounded cat, Riptide,” Darwin answers easily, and gives an undignified snort upon noticing the state of Sean's clothes, _and hair_. “You've got some leaves,” he adds, and makes a vague motion with his hand.

“What? Ah, shit. Thanks,” Sean breaks out of his stupor, and shakes his head absent mindedly, freeing the leaves from his ginger strands, nervously glancing at Azazel's back while doing it. The red mutant seems to be busy with preparing his food, and it's as fascinating as it is creepy, because Sean had no idea that bad guys were supposed to eat like normal humans. “Um, so he's busy then?”

“Yeah,” Darwin says, and glances at Azazel, before smiling at Sean and motioning for him to sit down, there is no need to make all of this more awkward. “It doesn't look good,” he says in a lowered voice, not really wanting to go into the excruciating details with the red-skinned mutant present in the room. It would be rude, and there is no telling what would happen. Darwin doesn't have to like the man to pity him. Maybe even understand on some odd level. He's had his own share of racial comments and prejudiced actions directed at him.

Sean wants to ask if it's that bad, if they think that the guy will pull it through, but he doesn't want to unnecessary provoke their unconventional guest, and by the look on Alex's face the atmosphere is already strained, so what comes out of his mouth instead is, “Is Azazel your real name?” Which makes him immediately regret that he opened his mouth.

Azazel stops chopping the tomatoes, and puts the knife aside, so he wouldn't be too tempted to use it more than he already is.

“Yes,” he answers shortly, pushing the crazy thoughts of needing a therapy later, in the back of his skull. “That's what I'm called.”

“That's kind of wicked,” Sean answers, actually surprised that nothing violent or painful happened. “Uh, your name I mean. It sounds scary, I guess with a name like that you don't need to have a codename or anything,” he starts to babble, and clears his throat, desperately wanting to shut up, but it's like he just can't stop. Azazel decides to help him, by expanding his answer.

“It's a demon name,” he says and turns fully, so he's facing the other three, with a bowl of chopped tomatoes mixed with yoghurt in front of him. “I've also been called Satan, and Beliar, once or twice Beelzebub too. I've never been christened nor given an official name. People were afraid of me ever since I was born.”

“How come?” Sean asks, before the idiocy of the question registers with him. “Your parents, what about them?”

“I believe having an offspring with a tail and red skin is not what they've been expecting,” Azazel answers with a shrug, tail sweeping lazily. “I wouldn't know, I've never knew them,” he says and sees the shift from curiosity to pity in the ginger-head's eyes. “Don't pity me boy,” he adds, not liking the look in the slightest, and barks out a sharp laugh. “I've killed more people in my life than you have hairs on your head.”

“Yeah, we've seen what you can do,” Alex mutters and looks at him, but it's less of an attack than it was before in Azazel's ears, so he just lets it slide, taking a bite of his tomatoes.

“That doesn't mean you can't be sad,” Sean comments, and looks up at him. “I mean. I'm sad,” he says softer. “About many things. It's just the way it is.”

“Those are very deep words boy,” Azazel snorts mockingly, his tail twitching from side to side. “But I don't need this kind of sentimentality. I'm not here to make friends or partake in Xavier's therapy for the underestimated mutants of the world,” _I shouldn't even be having this conversation. It doesn't change anything_ , he adds to himself, grimacing at his half-eaten tomatoes. This will hardly give him any sustenance; maybe he should at least try to eat some meat as well.

“There is nothing wrong with feelings,” Sean mutters, actually making Alex snort. It's the first time he laughed in the presence of their enemy-turned-guest, but he can't bring himself to care about that. Azazel's tail twitches at this, suddenly not at all comfortable with being in the kitchen.

The artificially homey atmosphere makes him nervous, confused.  
He doesn't belong here.  
He knows that.

They know that, and yet here they are actually having some kind of fucked-up conversation about feelings. _Christ! What is this place_ , Azazel thinks irritated, and to add to it, his stomach growls again, putting a sudden stop to Alex's snickering.

“Oh,” Darwin says, cutting through the heavy silence. “When was the last time you've eaten, you can't possibly think that a few tomatoes will stuff your stomach,” he says in all seriousness.

Azazel snaps, “You people?!” He growls lowly, tail swishing and hitting the cupboards doors, making them rattle dangerously. “Next time I know, you're going to start asking if I've had enough sleep at night, and if I brushed my teeth before it,” he raves, getting louder, words blurring together, accent slipping. He's irate, tired, _exhausted actually_ , and there is this non-disappearing thought of _what if_ considering Janos in the back of his mind.

“Whoa,” Darwin says with a frown, leaning back in his chair. “Man, calm down. We're just trying to cope. Your presence here is not exactly calming for us.”

“Then why?” Azazel huffs, and rubs at his face angrily.

“Why what?”

“Why are you so eager to have a conversation with me?” He snaps, glaring at the three of them. “I could kill you without even having to move from where I stand,” he chuckles, and feels a wave of dizziness clouding his brain. “You have no common sense whatsoever,” his chuckles turning into a mad cackle, as he slips onto the floor, weakened.

+

 _He has clearly lost his mind_ , is Alex's first thought as he observes with morbid fascination as Azazel keeps muttering gibberish, in a language that could be a mix of English and Russian, Alex can't tell, while half-sprawled on the floor, with his back against the kitchen cabinets.

“You think he's all right?” Darwin murmurs next to him, as reaches for Alex's palm under the table, giving it a slight squeeze. Alex can't be sure which one of them needs the reassurance more at the moment, but he appreciates the gesture.

Sean looks to them, then back at Azazel, “He's not quite what I've been expecting him to be,” he announces carefully after a moment, staring at the man. “Do you think we should maybe, do something?”

“Like what?” Alex sighs. “I'm not sure if doing something can be considered safe with him like that,” he finishes and Darwin nods at this, moving his hand from squeezing to actually entwining their fingers together, his thumb tracing small patterns on Alex's skin, looking at Azazel thoughtfully.

Sean catches the movement from the corner of his eye, but doesn't say anything. He knows that Alex and Darwin try to keep a low profile, but they're far less subtle that they think they are, although Sean had been quite surprised when he first realized what is going on. But it did explain a few things, like Alex's depression after the CIA incident.

“He must be really exhausted,” Darwin says finally.

“I think that's a too scary concept for me to grasp it completely,” Sean whispers, and sighs getting up. “But it's not exactly like we can leave him here like that,” he says, and looks at them expectantly. Alex doesn't look overly thrilled but stands up anyway, Darwin following the suit.

“Umm,” Sean moves closer to Azazel, keeping his guard up as if approaching a wild animal that could lash at you at any given moment. “Azazel?” He asks tentatively, crouching down in front of the man, but all he gets is another mash-up of words that make no sense, and when he dares to peer into Azazel's face, he notices that, “He's asleep.”

“What?”

“He is asleep,” Sean repeats and straightens up, to look at the other two. “He's sleep-talking.”

“We need to wake him up then,” Alex says, and looks at Azazel's silhouette on the floor thoughtfully. It doesn't look comfortable. “He can't sleep here,” he adds as an afterthought, not fully accepting that someone like Azazel can look so fragile.

“Do you want to carry him?” Sean asks, making Darwin stifle a chuckle into his fist, Alex throwing him a somewhat amused grin. “Because if you're volunteering, I won't stop you.”

“We don't have much of a choice,” Alex sighs heavily. “Lifting him won't be a problem. It's the tail that is dangerous, you can't exactly predict if it will react violently or not.”

“It's amazing,” Sean comments, grinning at the other two. “The tail I mean, not the sudden and violent death by it. That's just not groovy.”

“Are you a fan now, Sean?” Darwin chuckles and hits his arm playfully. “So the shy looks and edging away were just a cover for a crush.”

“Right,” Sean waves him away, before continuing, “It's not like you disagree. Don't get me wrong, this man is scaring the shit out of me just being here, but his tail is amazing, it's very agile and acts pretty much like an additional limb, and it makes me wonder what else it can do and - “

“Oh, my God! Sean, stop it!” Alex interrupts him, raising both his hands in the air, squeezing his eyes shut. “Some of us do not want to know what else, or who else, he can do with his tail,” he rushes, and gives a small whimper at the kind of imagery he'd rather spare himself.

“I don't believe you actually went there,” Sean says after a beat, with a partially scared, partially amazed expression on his face. ”I haven't even thought of the possibility before, but now that you mention it -”

“Stop! Please stop,” Alex mutters, covering his face with both hands, praying there was a way to erase the image of Azazel having sex with anyone, but it's already imprinted on his brain and _God, why_?! He asks, and wonders if crying and bashing his head repeatedly against the nearest wall would help.

“I'm pretty sure there is something between him and the wounded one upstairs,” Darwin comments, and grins when Alex glares at him through his fingers. _It's actually cute_ , he thinks privately, before loudly adding, “It's not that hard to see.”

“How can you tell?” Sean asks, curious, because he is obviously missing something here. He'd only met this Riptide character, twice, the second time being on that day on the beach. The day their happy little family - _Sean is not ashamed of thinking of them as just that_ \- had a painful falling out. _When Erik left us_ , he thinks sadly. _When Erik left Charles_ , his mind provides him. It got to all of them, but you'd have to be blind to not see just how much it destroyed Charles. He'd lost so much more than his legs.

“It's the way he looked at him,” Darwin answers, snapping Sean of his momentary memory dive.

“So he gave him a funny look, that doesn't prove a thing,” Alex huffs annoyed with where this conversation is going, because he'd rather perceive Azazel and Riptide as enemies, currently stationed in the mansion, than feel any kind of companionship with them. _It's easier that way_ , he tells himself. It's easier to hate someone you're supposed to hate than feeling sad for them.

“Of course it does,” Darwin answers simply, and throws Alex a look that usually makes him a bit weak in the knees, which is both extremely annoying and arousing, because Alex likes to be in full control over his body. He has too, years of experience has taught him just that and Darwin isn't exactly making things easier for him, with all the looks and touches and smiles and -

“Fine,” Alex snaps, ignoring the heat in his cheeks. “Now, can we please, get back to the problem at hand?” He asks, motioning with his head to Azazel, still muttering gibberish. ”Like this man here, whom we need to move from the kitchen floor, before he wakes up?”

 

 **\+ end of part four**

**Author's Note:**

> Self-beta, comments, critics & kudos are always appreciated


End file.
